


Harry Potter and the Order of Magia

by Drarley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), The Sacred Twenty-Eight (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:13:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drarley/pseuds/Drarley
Summary: Following the events of the Ministry after Harry's fifth year and especially Sirius' death, the lines between Harry and Voldemort had become blurrier than ever. Sometimes, he didn't know where he began and where Voldemort ended.Harry needs some time to think, feel and understand. He spends his summer alone at Grimmauld Place Number 12 to do just that and learns a lot more about magic than he ever could have imagined.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	1. Letters and Dreams

Harry needed time. He needed time to think, to feel, to understand.

A sudden rumble made him sit straight. Outside of his little bedroom window dark clouds had rolled over the small town that is Little Whinging. Thunder roared through the night and lighting bolts lit up the sky as thick raindrops fell onto the earth. Harry absently watched the spectacular, almost completely lost in his thoughts. It had only been three days since he had arrived back at Privet Drive Number 4 but it felt like an eternity. Of course, there was the usual cleaning the kitchen, tidying up all the rooms, working in the garden and preparing the food but other than that the Dursleys had pretty much stopped caring about his presence in their home.

He spent most of his time quiet in his room, not disturbing anyone and acting like he wasn’t even there. Since Dudley had thrown all his broken toys into his room Harry had become the owner of a digital alarm clock that also functioned as a radio. However, the storm overshadowed to low music completely.

The Daily Prophet, that lay on the bed beside the window, had not yet reported anything particularly unusual. There were the usual unusual stories of Muggles being attacked by biting teacups or the latest cauldron-fraud featuring an article by none other than Percy Weasley but not even the latest Quidditch Results could lift Harry’s spirits. However, the Daily Prophet had added a new section to their newspaper in which they offered advice for protection. This new section called “PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY AGAINST THE DARK FORCES issued on behalf of the ministry” came as a purple leaflet pinned to every issue. The first time the leaflet had appeared it informed its reader on basic defence techniques that Harry had mastered in his third year and stupid rules like not leaving your house alone. Harry thought the advice was stupid because a muggleborn student could leave the house with their parents and still end up being alone because their parents could not defend themselves against a wizard, much less a Death Eater or even a Dementor. Harry counted himself to that type of student because he had been attacked by Dementors last year while being outside with his cousin, but does the ministry care about that?

No, of course not.

The only good thing that had happened so far was the letter he had received from Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Harry had read the letter so many times that the once tight little scroll now lay flat on his desk and he knew the letter by heart.

_Dear Harry,_

_Once again, I would like to offer my condolences to you. Losing your Godfather is a terrible thing. Long before his Death, Sirius gave me a little parchment containing his last will. If it is convenient to you, I shall visit you at number four, Privet Drive this coming Friday at eleven p.m. to talk to you about the details of Sirius will and to escorts you to the Burrow, where you have been invited to spend the remainder of your school holidays. If you are agreeable, I should also be glad of your assistance in a matter to which I hope to attend on the way to The Burrow. I shall explain this more fully when I see you. Kindly send your answer by return of this owl._

_Hoping to see you this Friday,_

_I am, yours most sincerely,_

_Album Dumbledore_

After he scribbled his ‘yes’ on a small piece of parchment and sending it back with the delivery owl, as requested, the uneasiness he felt only grew. Sirius was dead. He wouldn’t be coming back. Harry would inherit his belongings. Harry would inherit Grimmauld Place as well as Kreacher. Harry had decided to ask Dumbledore to let him stay at Grimmauld Place on his own, after all he needed time to think, to feel, to understand. Surely Dumbledore would grant him that wish but until then Harry had to wait.

Roaring thunder helped Harry come back to reality. He stared out his window and while looking at his reflection he realised that he was crying. It happened to him quite a lot these days. One time his cousin Dudley had noticed and started making fun of it, again asking whether his beloved boyfriend Cedric had died. If only it had been that easy.

At first Harry had liked Cho Chang, who just so happened to be Cedric’s girlfriend. Then he realised that his feelings were not affectionate at all but rather jealous. He had tried to look for the best in her and thought he had seen it but in the end, he only wanted to see what Cedric saw in her to find out why he didn’t see it in Harry. But that was weird, right? Harry never had much time to figure out his sexual orientation. Who does when every year someone tries to kill you? Now he didn’t feel like figuring out his sexuality. The deaths of Cedric Diggory and Sirius Black were too difficult to deal with.

Harry sighed and got up. He took off his glasses, set them onto his little nightstand and rid himself off his clothes to finally try and get some sleep. The bright green figures of the alarm clock showed 02:18. Glowing green numbers soon turned into a Glowing green streak followed by a high pitched and cruel laugh. The dream of the night his parents died suddenly went black and a new sight appeared.

_Stone walls, a long table and an uncomfortable chair. Many faces, some of them familiar and even more unfamiliar ones. A lot of talking. He could see the Malfoy Family, missing their son Draco. Bellatrix Lestrange he recognised too, as well as a woman that looked almost exactly like her. To his surprise he also saw Augusta Longbottom and the well-known wandmaker Garrick Ollivander. He couldn’t understand why all these people were there. They talked for what seemed to be hours. There were many terms Harry had never even heard of. The greatest shock so far was the person coming in late. Bill Weasley joined this weird meeting, followed by the twins Fred and George._

The next morning Harry remembered nothing of this weird dream but the feeling of seeing the Weasleys and the Longbottom matriarch converse with people like the Malfoys or Lestranges was still there, sitting deep in the pit that was his stomach.

His aunt Petunia called out to him from outside his bedroom, screeching for him to get bloody dressed and start making the bloody breakfast and if he dared burn any of the damn bacon he would not eat for the rest of the summer. He took his glasses from the nightstand, put them on and gave the tiny dragon imitation he had been given in his fourth year a small pat on the head.

Amazement flooded through his body every time he thought of this tiny, little creature that actually lived. It ate, it slept, it did everything a normal sized dragon did only in tiny. Harry had affectionately called him Norbert, in honour of the dragon Hagrid had to give away in his first year at Hogwarts.

After one quick glance around the room he could find his pants, his shirt and two matching socks scattered across the room. While getting dressed he threw another glance over to the desk. His window had been open all night, but his owl Hedwig was still nowhere to be seen. He sighed, threw some treats in the cage for when she got back and started making breakfast. His uncle was sitting in the living room listening to the news on the telly, Harry listened as well. Last year’s news had mainly consisted of parrots doing weird tricks but last year Lord Voldemort had been in hiding. This year he had hoped but at the same time not hoped that this could change.

Unfortunately, there were news. The assistant to the Prime Minister had been found dead in his flat, all windows closed, and the doors locked. Cause of Death still unknown, the man was apparently perfectly healthy.

Harry knew what had happened: Death Eaters, maybe even Voldemort himself. More interesting new followed. The collapse of the Brockdale Bridge. Of course, Uncle Vernon’s commentary was much more colourful than the reporter’s announcements and almost made Harry smile.

“Of course, they would start offing the government! Have you even read the papers? The administration is rubnish, they better hire someone who actually knows how to do their bloody job! Cause of Death? Don’t make me laugh, I’m sure he’s one of those bloody addicts, they’re everywhere in London. Obviously the Brockdale Bridge collapsed because we imported the cheap steel from China! Why not use our own, good steel! Stupid administration, can’t do anything right!”

Harry knew better than tell Vernon the truth. His uncle hated the government, but he hated the magical world even more, there was absolutely no need to fuel that hate even more.

After breakfast Harry almost ran back to his room. If he can’t hear his aunts orders he doesn’t need to follow them. Waiting for him was Hedwig, munching on the owl treats. Harry walked up to her to retract the two rolls of parchment attached to her leg, one from Ron and the other from Hermione, his best friends.

_‘Sup Harry,_

_Didn’t get a letter from you yet, everything alright? I’ll beat those bloody Muggles if they stop you from writing to us! I know Dumbledore already told you that you’re invited and that he’ll get you, Mum told me, but if the Muggles won’t let you just write to me and I’ll come get you with Fred and George! Done that before after all. Please write to me, mate, we’re worried._

_I’ll see you soon, Ron_

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the letter. It was simply very..Ron. It wasn’t much and he had never been good with words but that also meant he didn’t press any questions on Harry or force him to talk about Sirius. Then he opened Hermione’s letter. It was thrice as long.

_Hey Harry,_

_How are you? I hope you’re doing okay. What you must be going through – It’s unimaginable. I’m really, really sorry for your loss. If you need someone to talk to you write to me, alright? Here’s my phone number, maybe your family could let you use their phone so we can actually talk?_

Harry ignored the phone number. There was no way that his family was going to let him use their phone to talk to one of his freaky little friends from his freaky little school. He didn’t know what he had expected but he was not surprised that Hermione dedicated basically the entire length of Ron’s letter just to tell him how sorry she was for him. But sorry didn’t bring Sirius back. Sorry didn’t take the pain away. Sorry could kiss his arse for all he cared.

_I haven’t gotten a letter from you yet and I must say, I’m worried about you. I know you’re going through a very hard time at the moment but please write to me. Don’t push your friends away, we just want to help you, want you to feel better. Together we’re always stronger than we are alone. Don’t forget that, please?_

_Ron told me that you’ll go to The Burrow on Friday, he heard it from his Mum who heard it from Professor Dumbledore. Do you think he will finally start teaching you? I mean, with the amount of Defense Against The Dark Arts teachers we’ve had it’s kind of amazing how good you are, don’t you think? Not even I can follow the course properly sometimes. If Dumbledore does teach you, I’d love to hear what he has to say, if that’s alright with you two._

As usual everyone else knew more than he did. Sometimes having two best friends that are also each other’s best friend was difficult. They always told each other everything, often forgetting about Harry. He got used to it over time but now it hurt more than ever. It also hurt that she was, again, mad that he was better at Defence than she was. Or that she had the audacity to demand to know what Dumbledore teaches him. He didn’t even know whether Dumbledore wanted to teach him, he hadn’t even said a word about that. Harry’s stomach started revolting.

_I’m still in Greece with my parents but I’ll join you a week later. Maybe one day when this is over, we can all travel together. The world is full of magical places that we still haven’t seen. I’ll send you a present from Greece soon since your birthday is coming up too, maybe it’ll be a little late, apologies for that._

How can she talk about stuff like that during times like this? “When this is over”? Who said that the war was going to end? Who said that they’ll all survive? Sometimes Hermione could be stupid, blind even, despite being the smartest witch of her age. They were at war. They had lost Cedric last year, this year they had lost Sirius. Maybe this year it would hit even closer to home and one of them died, maybe one of the Weasleys.

_As much as I love it here, I also look forward to seeing you again. I know, it’s not even been a week, but I already miss you. Please write back to me, Harry._

_Lots of love_

_Hermione_

Harry wasn’t surprised by the letter; he wasn’t even disappointed. Reading Hermione’s letter left a strange emptiness that not even Ron’s letter could refill. Last year a friend had told him that if she were Lord Voldemort she would try to isolate him from his friends. Maybe Voldemort didn’t have to try so hard. Sometimes he felt like they barely knew him at all. Ron, who’s as emotional as a brick wall, and Hermione, who tries to be emotional but ends up being more like a schoolbook and trying to be logical instead of empathic. How were they supposed to know how he felt? They never really understood him. Did they really care about him? Did they care because he was “The Chosen One”? “The Boy Who Lived”? What if they only cared about the fame and his money? Can he really be sure that Ron is really his friend because he likes him or is, he his friend because his presents are so good?

Thoughts like this continued to haunt his mind. He tried to reply to their letters but found that his letters were too harsh to be sent. He tried doing his summer homework but after having read one sentence for the fifth time he quit that too. He tried to pet Hedwig but even she noticed that he was in a more than foul mood and escaped to the top of his closet. Frustrated with his friends, his homework, his owl and mostly himself he jumped up and quickly made his way out the front door or number four, Privet Drive. Surely his family didn’t miss him.

He lackadaisically strolled through the streets and only barely noticed that he was standing in front of a small house on Wisteria Walk. The house belonged the Mrs Figg, a Squib that worked for Dumbledore to keep an eye on him. Which he only found out last year after he was put on trial for defending himself against two Dementors. He shook his head and continued his walk, Mrs Figg didn’t seem to be home and he didn’t feel like seeing or talking to anyone anyway.

Walking through these familiar streets let his mind wander to darker and darker places.

Where he would be if he never left for Hogwarts. Not stuck in a wizarding war. Not worrying for his life. Not having to fight for his live every single year in a place that’s supposed to be the safest place in all of Britain. Instead he would be just another normal boy. Just Harry. Just Harry, who goes to a normal school, gets normal grades, makes normal friends. He would never have put Ron and Hermione in harms way while fighting Quirrel over the Philosophers Stone. Ginny would never have been given the diary of Tom Riddle; he knew better than anyone how she was still suffering from that.

Pettigrew wouldn’t have gotten away and Sirius would never have gone to Azkaban in the first place. During the tournament Viktor wouldn’t have been put under the Imperius Curse and most importantly Cedric wouldn’t have died. The Weasley family wouldn’t have fought, Mr Weasley wouldn’t have been attacked by the giant snake and Sirius wouldn’t have been killed. How could he let anyone trick himself like that? It was stupid, he was stupid. Even Snape, the slimy git, knew that it was fake. If only he had listened to Snape for once his Godfather would still be alive, would be able to send him letters, cheer him up. But he wasn’t here and that was his fault. Didn’t that make him worse than Snape? Worse than Malfoy? Because of him so many people had gotten hurt, killed even.

But his mind wandered further.

Where he would be if Lord Voldemort had decided to kill Neville Longbottom instead of him. He would have two loving parents. A beautiful mother, a great father. He would still have his Godfather. He would have grown up in the magical world instead of a cupboard under the stairs. He would be loved for who he is, cared about because he’s a good person. As his train of thought continued like this a fiery rage started to boil in his stomach. Why not Neville? Why was he denied a family, a home?

But his mind wandered further, again.

Where would everyone else be if he had never even existed? Lily and James would have been able to enjoy their lives outside of school. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Sirius – So many people wouldn’t have gotten hurt or died. Maybe it would have been better if he had never been born.

He knew he couldn’t do anything about not being born but he could jump in front of a car. That should do it, right? But no, he was the Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The Saviour of the Wizarding World. He wasn’t allowed to die, he had responsibilities, a job to do.

But first he needed to think, to feel, to understand.

For now, that wish would not be granted. Harry had reached the small playground on Magnolia Crescent. On the other side of the road he could see the small space between a garage and a fence, where he had first seen Sirius. Of course, memories of Sirius had to haunt him even in his boring, little Muggle hometown. He hated this city; he hates the people here. He hated everything that there was to hate. He even hated his best friends for not understanding how terrible this place made him feel. Yes, they expressed how sorry they were after he told them that he had to live in a cupboard under the stairs, but did they ever really talk about it? No, never. Did he have to listen how great their homes and families were, how awesome the Christmas presents were while he got a used toothpick for his 10th birthday. He hated that no one understood him and that no one even tried.

“Yo, Big D! Ain’t that your freakish cousin?”

Harry could hear someone laugh, he was sure that it was Piers Polkiss, Dudleys best friend. He was just like Dudley, except for the part where he was even dumber and a little less fat. He also couldn’t punch as well as Dudley. Harry hat a lot of experience with being punched by Diddykins and his little gang. He’d acted as their punching bag until Harry had gone to Hogwarts. Of course, Dinky Duddydums couldn’t tell his friends why they didn’t beat him up anymore but bullying the new kids in school was obviously way cooler than teasing Harry, they couldn’t even get any money out of him.

“Is he really into Blokes?” laughed another one. “I mean, first he screams Cedric, Cedric! In his sleep and now suddenly he’s hung up on this Sirius? Seriously, who calls their son Sirius these days?”

Dumb as they were, they laughed about how funny the ‘seriously’ had been because he was talking about Sirius. Harry didn’t think it was funny, it made him unexplainably angry. Filthy Muggle scum like those guys should never be allowed to talk about Sirius in that way, talk about him at all. If only Harry were allowed to use his wand then..

Then what? They wouldn’t be talking crap about him anymore. They would fear him. He would never have to be scared again.

Now afraid of his own mind and what it was telling him Harry turned the opposite direction and bolted. He had always been fast, and Dudley’s friends didn’t really care about him, they simply laughed and took it as a yes, that he was a poof.

Harry came home late that night. He ignored Vernon’s screaming and the threats how he wouldn’t get food for the remainder of his holidays, but he didn’t care, he didn’t want to eat anyway. Back in his room and slammed the door shut, threw himself onto his bed and furiously screamed into his pillow.

How could he even think about cursing an innocent human being? But they weren’t innocent, they had never been innocent. They may be Muggles but they were still terrible people, so they deserved some punishment, no? Harry shook his head, he was in no position to judge other people and execute some kind of punishment for their actions. That would make him no better than Voldemort, the mass murderer and leader of an evil cult that he despised. Harry could never abuse his magic to hurt a Muggle, right? Except, he already had when he blew up his aunt Marge because she had talked bad about his parents. Admittedly, he hadn’t done it on purpose but that same night he had threatened his uncle. Maybe Sirius had been wrong when he said that Harry was a good person. Maybe Harry was just a terrible person, wanting to oppress and hurt Muggles. Maybe Harry was becoming more and more like Voldemort.

Harry didn’t know and he didn’t pursue those thoughts any further. He knew he didn’t want to be like Voldemort.

He forced himself to stop thinking about this kind of thing by focusing all his thoughts on Quidditch, the best sport in the world, and fell asleep chasing an imaginary snitch.


	2. The last will of Sirius Orion Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last and final will of Sirius Orion Black is read. Despite being left with more than he could ever ask for, Harry would rather have his Godfather back.

Professor Dumbledore was supposed to arrive at eleven pm on Friday night. Harry James Potter could be found sitting by the window. His head was resting against the cold glass, hair messed up even more than usual and glasses sitting askew on the bridge of his nose. 

He had given up on his trunk before he had even begun. Most of his clothes were still in the closet or on the floor, his trainers were on the desk, the brass telescope sat in one of them. His school books were lying on the bed. The only thing left lying on the bottom of the trunk were sweets wrappers, broken quills, used parchment, chocolate frog cards, the broken piece of the two-way mirror Sirius had given him and single socks.

The digital alarm clock showed 22:55 and started to play loud music. Harry awoke from his dreamers slumber, glad that no one heard the low grunting noise he made. He wiped the drool from his chin and looked out the window. The streetlights were lit and the whole scene looked exactly like Privet Drive was supposed to look like at night. No Dumbledore in sight. Harry sighed, got up and drowned the trash from his trunk into the bin. The telescope was put in the trunk with care, clothes were simply thrown on top of it. At exactly 23 o’clock, the alarm clock was proof of that, the doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon’s roaring voice already complained about who could disturb their nightly business. Harry realised: he forgot to tell the Dursleys about Dumbledore's visit.

Harry ran down the stairs torn between crying and laughing. There was no way that the Dursleys were going to take to this well.

“Good evening, Mr Dursley.” Harry heard his headmaster say. He appeared at the top of the stairs and looked down. Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin man with long, silver hair and an equally long and silver beard. Half-moon spectacles sat on top of a very crooked nose. He was wearing a pointed hat and a black travel cloak. Vernon Dursley, with an equally impressive but black moustache, was wearing a puce dressing-gown, staring at the visitor as if he’d seen a ghost. 

“Judging by the look of your stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming,” said Dumbledore pleasantly as Harry continued his way down the stairs. 

Weirder things had happened but there was no doubt that Professor Dumbledore did not belong in this house. Usually when they talked there was a desk between them. Their last meeting also made this exceptionally weird. Harry had gone onto a minor rampage in the headmasters office, destroying most valuable possessions and all his fragile, silver instruments. For a split second Harry thought that Dumbledore was going to tell him that his letter was just a reason to see him and that he actually intended to tell Harry that he had been thrown out of Hogwarts because of all the damage he had caused. After all, who could blame him? It was Harry’s fault that Quirrel had died. It was probably Harry’s fault, that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. It was Harry’s fault, that Peter Pettigrew got away after Sirius escaped. It was Harry’s fault, that Voldemort had come back and that Cedric had died. It was Harry’s fault, that Sirius was now dead. He had broken so many school rules, his grades weren’t even that good and now he had destroyed his headmasters precious objects. He would hate him, right? And how was Harry supposed to live in the Muggle world now? They would take his wand away, his Gold in Gringotts away, his life away. He hadn’t been to a Muggle school in five years, no one would take him in, no one would give him a job. He would have to live under a bridge and freeze to death. He shook his head a little to get rid of these thoughts but somehow they stayed in the back of his mind, scraping on the walls Harry had put them in, trying to escape.

“Ah, there you are, my boy. How have you been?” before Harry could do so much as nod Professor Dumbledore continued.  
“Let’s act like you have just invited me into your lovely home, shall we? You must be the son of the family, Dudley, am I right? Oh, and Petunia, dear. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

The three Dursleys, including Harry, were dumbstruck. Harry, who was already used to Dumbledore's uniqueness, or at least as used to it as humanly possible, managed to regain control over himself.

“Professor Dumbledore, Sir. You are here.”

“Of course I’m here, Harry. I asked for your permission in my letter and you gave it. Why would I not come even though I promised it?” the old wizard chuckled a little before speaking to the Dursley family again. 

“Let us all assume that, after so generously inviting me to your home, you even more generously invite an old man into your living room so we can all make ourselves comfortable, no?”

Dudley, trying to get as far away from the wizard as possible, accidentally and foolishly ran into the living room, his parents following him. Harry did indeed invite him further into the house and everyone did indeed get seated.

“I presume that expecting to be offered refreshments is too much at this point, but I will not let this rudeness get the better of me.” He took our his wand, waved it and three glasses as well as an old bottle appeared in the air. According to the Professor the honey-coloured liquid that was magically poured into the glasses was “Madam Rosmerta’s finest, oak-matured mead”. One glass flew to one person each and waited in the air. Harry took his glass and took a sip. The mead didn’t taste like anything he had ever tasted but it felt like sunshine on his tongue and he enjoyed it immensely.

“Well, Harry. As I have told you in my letter, Sirius has left me his will and he left you everything he owned.”

Uncle Vernon’s head turned and he inhaled sharply.

“His Godfather is dead?” asked uncle Vernon loudly as he laughed a little. Professor Dumbledore only nodded before starting to speak again.

“You add a reasonable amount of gold to your vault in Gringotts and are now the owner of all of Sirius’ possession. The two difficulties that have arisen are number twelve, Grimmauld Place-“  
“He has been left a house?” Uncle Vernon’s eyes narrowed and Harry thought he’d seen the slightest hint of greed in the big man’s eyes. 

Harry hated it. He hated his uncle for, even for just a second, thinking that maybe he could take that away from Harry. He hated that his Uncle could speak about his Godfathers death as if it was something that happened in a movie. He hated it, all of it, and it broke his heart. Again, he wished he could do something. Do more than just idly sit by and do nothing while another filthy Muggle tarnished Sirius memory like this. Dumbledore coughed and Harry was ripped out of his thoughts.

“We have temporarily vacated the building. Due to old traditions of the Black family a house is usually passed on to someone from the Black family. Sirius oldest living relative would be his killer, Bellatrix Lestrange. I’m sure you see our little problem, Harry, right?” Harry jumped up, fuelled by rage. There was no way that he would let Bellatrix Lestrange inherit that house.

“I believe you do understand. You see, we ourselves have cast many enchantments upon the place. We do not know whether Sirius’ loss of ownership affects them in any way. It might be that Bellatrix will simply arrive on the doorstep any moment now. Not willing to accept that risk we have decided to stay away until a solution is found.”

“But how can we find out whether I’m allowed to own it or not?"

“Fortunately,” said Dumbledore, “there is a simple test. Since Sirius left you absolutely everything he owned you are now the rightful owner of..”

He simply waved his wand and in front of them appeared the filthiest creature Harry had ever laid his eyes on. It was a tiny ball of rags with giant bat ears and gargantuan, bloodshot eyes. As soon as this thing saw Harry it started to cry hysterically and throw an almost childish tantrum.

“Kreacher.” Harry recognised the house-elf he had met during his last summer at numerous twelve, Grimmauld Place.  
“Correct, Harry. As you can see Kreacher does not exactly approve of the new ownership, not that he particularly liked his last owner.”

“What is going to happen to him now?” Harry asked curiously over the loud crying coming from the house-elf. 

“He is yours now. I do not get the impression that you particularly like him. I could make you the offer of sending him to Hogwarts, the other elves could keep an eye on him and he wouldn’t have to follow you around. Of course you can also take him with to to the Weasley Family, I’m sure Molly could put him to good use. The one thing I would like you to keep in mind is that Kreacher spend the entire last year at the headquarter of the Order of Phoenix.”

Harry’s brain was working in overtime. He owned a house, he owned a house-elf. His plan was formed in a matter of seconds but would Professor Dumbledore even allow something like that?

“Sir, what was this test you were speaking of?”  
“Ah, right. Well, you see, if you are the owner of the house and the owner of Kreacher you can give him an order. If you truly are the owner, he will have to comply.”

Right, simple. Why hadn’t he thought of that. The elf had grown annoying, shouting “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t” during the entire conversation, pulling on his bat ears and rolling around on the floor.

“Kreacher?” the elf looked up, bloodshed eyes filled with a deep hatred, the cries continuing. Harry remembered something Dumbledore had told him in his office at the end of the last term, that Kreacher must be treated with kindness and respect. True, Sirius had failed at that but maybe Harry could set things right for him. For Sirius he would do anything, for Dumbledore not so much.

“Could you please be silent?” It was a simple request that was accomplished by the elf immediately. His mouth was still working at full speed, spewing out the most colourful insults Harry had ever heard, or in this case not heard. Kreacher was absolutely silent. Harry had to stifle a laugh. A small house-elf, rolling around on the floor silently cursing the world around him was too hilarious to not laugh. However no one else seemed to share his sense of humour. For the first time since Dumbledore arrived Harry looked at the Dursleys. Petunia was in shock, Kreacher was probably the most hideous little creature she had ever seen. Harry thought about asking Dobby to come too, just to shock her even more. He was coming of age next summer, no one could force him to come back next year, right? He owned a house, he owned a house-elf, he had money.

“Professor Dumbledore, Sir. Would you, perhaps, allow me to move to Grimmauld Place? I’m not feeling like myself, not really at least. I would like to have some time to get away, to deal with everything I’m feeling. I will have Kreacher looking after me. One of your Order members can come look after me, maybe bring me groceries, of course I will keep my doors and wards open to any visitors, even if I would ask of them to announce their visit and keep them to a minimum, maybe on the weekends. I would simply like to spend some time alone. I hope you understand that?” He threw a hopeful look to Dumbledore and caught a gentle spark in his eyes.

“Are you sure that this is a good idea? You and Kreacher are not exactly what one would call best friends.”  
Harry nodded cautiously. 

“Maybe, during the summer holidays, one or two of your Hogwarts house-elves could come too. Help me clean up, prepare food. I’m sure it’ll work out.”

“I can’t allow you to leave the house, Harry. I’m sure you know that, would you be okay with it?”

“Of course, Sir! I will absolutely be able to stay at home, cleaning all the rooms will surely take some time. I’m sure Dobby will gladly be of help.”

“Can I trust you with this, Harry? We both know how prone you are to breaking rules of any kind. I’m not sure whether there is a school rule that you haven’t broken at least once in the past five years. I’m sure that after what so tragically happened to Cedric and Sirius you need no reminder of how difficult these times are, do I? Wandering around on your own will leave you more than defenceless, even with your lovely cloak.” Dumbledore shared a knowing look with him and Harry nodded.

“I will stay in number twelve, Grimmauld Place at all times. I will go out only under adult supervision and only once or twice to buy everything I need for my sixth year at Hogwarts.”

Harry knew that he hadn’t said the word “promise” once. He had not made any kind of oath. This was, in no way, binding and Harry was aware of it. He was sure that Dumbledore knew this too but, knowing Dumbledore, he would always see the best in a person, thus believing Harry. And he did.

“Is your trunk packed?” He chuckled a little, Harry hastily excused himself, ran back upstairs and cleared out his entire room, which took him about ten whole minutes. The rest of his clothes landed in his trunk, books followed. He didn’t know whether he would ever come back so he cleared out his entire room. His books from his first year, his old shirts from Dudley, all the letters he had ever received from his friends. Finally he put Norbert into the breast pocket of his shirt, where he immediately fell asleep, and looked through the room. The only things he left were the furniture, the lamp on the nightstand and the digital alarm clock, since wizards didn’t have any electricity. He told Hedwig to fly to London and brought his trunk, his firebolt and her cage downstairs, smiling brighter than he had in weeks. This was the perfect getaway for him. Dumbledore was waiting for him in the hall. He shrunk his trunk as well as the cage and Harry put them into the pocket of his trousers.

“Can we go now?” Harry asked hopefully but Dumbledore looked at the Dursley family members, eyes glowing with expectation.

“Hrmpf, you’re not coming back, boy? Good. Bye,” muttered Uncle Vernon. Dudley even shook his hand but Aunt Petunia couldn’t be brought to even look at him. Now that he thought about it though, he couldn’t exactly blame her. From what he had heard, mainly from Petunia’s rants about how terrible he was, he had ruined her life. After Lily, his mother, had gotten her letter to Hogwarts she had always been the favourite child. She had met Vernon at a young age, fallen in love and gotten married. She was finally leading her perfectly normal life. She was finally someone’s number one. She was finally happy. Then her son came and she couldn’t be happier, only to have it ruined again by her sister’s son. Her sister had died and of course she had to clean up the mess. He could totally understand why she hated him so much. He was a constant reminder of her dead sister. He stared at the floor in front of her feet.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Petunia. For everything.” He didn’t care that Dumbledore would scold him but he walked out that door and didn’t look back. He could hear Dumbledore excuse himself behind him, then hurry after him. 

Harry led the way through the almost dark streets when Dumbledore stopped him. He took out a weird little machine that looked like a silver lighter and clicked it. Click after click the street lights turned off, the light magically flew into the lighter.

“Before I let you off at Grimmauld Place and we discuss a few security matters I believe I need to settle one more affair that requires your assistance. I don’t believe you have passed your Apparitions test?”

Harry, truthfully, replied and took Dumbledore's right arm. He looked at his hand and was suddenly worried. The headmasters fingertips were completely black and it seemed to spread.

“Sir, what happened to yo-“ he was suddenly interrupted by the weird sensation of being squeezed through a tube. He grabbed Dumbledore's arm tighter, scared that he would rip apart into thousands of pieces if he let go.


	3. Professor Slughorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry moves into Grimauld Place and recollects the conversations he had with Headmaster Dumbledore and the newly-appointed Professor Slughorn. He realizes that he still has much to learn.

It had been a week since Harry moved into Grimauld Place Number 12 and Harry had never felt better. Admittedly, being around Kreacher was still weird at times, the house was covered in as much dirt and dust as it was the last time Harry had been there and the overall gloominess of the place hadn’t changed a bit, but Harry felt more at home than he ever could with the Dursleys. 

After Harry and Dumbledore had convinced Slughorn, an eccentric old man who used to teach at Hogwarts, to retake his spot on the teaching staff of Hogwarts, he had given him a few houseelves to help with the cleaning and reparation of the house. The elves had done a wonder to the entire estate already but there was still much more to be done. The first order of business had been Harry’s bedroom. He had chosen Sirius old bedroom on the top floor, very much to the dismay of Kreacher, who had insisted that Harry, as Lord of the house, should take the Master bedroom. Something about the way Kreacher had worded his arguments made Harry think that he was secretly very glad that Harry, a non-Black Lord of the house, was not in the Master Bedroom.

The elves had also taken to the kitchen, the dining room and the bathroom Harry preferred to use. Kreacher’s request was a functioning library and a laboratory of sorts, where Harry could safely brew potions or try out his magic without blowing up the entire house. At the time, Harry hadn’t had it in him to refuse Kreacher such an easy request though Harry doubted that he would spend much time brewing potions over the summer holidays.

Harry's mind regularly recapped the conversations he had had with the Headmaster in Grimauld Place number 12 and the man they visited, Horace Slughorn. The first meeting with soon-to-be Professor Slughorn had been entertaining as well as informative. The man had completely wrecked the entire house he was living in and transfigured himself into an armchair to avoid being spotted. Dumbledore, of course, figured it out and turned him back with a poke of his wand. Slughorn didn’t want to take the position at first and Harry couldn’t blame him at all. Everyone knew that the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts had been cursed for years. 

Dumbledore hadn’t been surprised by this either and was ready to use the bathroom and leave again but that was the most vital part of this little visit. Especially for Harry. 

Slughorn had told him about how he taught his parents. Lily had been a wonderful student and James as rowdy as everyone always said. He also talked about other favourite students he had and what he called the “Slug Club”. James hadn’t been a member.

“Why was my father complicated, because he was a troublemaker?” Harry has asked.

“Oh yes,” Slughorn had agreed, “I was friends with his father, Fleamont Potter. Great Potioneer and creator of some of the most famous hair potions of his time, I believe they still use his recipe today, maybe with only a few changes. I thought that maybe your father had the same talent when it came to Potions and I was not disappointed, he was great. He excelled at every subject and in later years he turned into a wondrous Quidditch player, my team could have used him too. But instead of focusing on his classes, on becoming a prefect, on working towards a certain goal or a position in the ministry - he pranked teachers, the caretaker and fellow students. After his fifth year however he had become much more mature and was, rightfully, appointed head boy.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking but what do you mean with “your team”, Sir?”

“You see, m’boy, I was head of house Slytherin.”

Of course he was. He was just another little snake. Harry grimaced, even for just a few seconds. But somehow, somewhere, Harry wasn’t surprised at all. Sitting in front of him was, after all, a man who collected successful people. Slughorn helped these people on their way to greatness, to fame, to success and in return he collected presents and favours. Harry was almost sure that Slughorn could get free Quidditch tickets whenever he wanted or the latest chocolates from Honeydukes. Instead of a snake he now saw the man as a big, fat spider, sitting in the middle of its gargantuan net. A spider, manipulating and pulling threads to make juicy flies come closer. The more Harry thought about it the more Harry could see the old man fade into the background. Surrounding oneself with famous and rich people that regarded oneself highly was a very Slytherin thing to do. But better Slughorn than Snape, that he was sure of.

“Now. Now. No need to pull a face. I know what you’re thinking but let me tell you, you’re wrong. You’re a Gryffindor like them, no? It usually does go in the family. Not always though. Look at this young boy here, he played seeker. Only a year younger than your father too! His whole family had been in Slytherin. Parents, Aunts, Uncles, his three cousins. The only one I couldn’t get was his brother. Maybe you have heard from him, Sirius Black, yeah? I hear he died a while ago. It’s a shame, really. I would have liked to have the whole set. Black was, just like your father, a brilliant boy with much potential who never used it for anything good.”

“I know Sirius Black. He was my godfather and he left me everything he owned.” 

Hearing him talk about Sirius in such a nonchalant way stung but Harry didn’t let it show. Before the anger inside of Harry could grow and grow into an untamable beast that would scream and shout at Slughorn the way it had a few weeks ago in Dumbledore’s office Slughorn continued to talk. He had been surprised by Harrys statement but offered to sit down with Harry to give him some pointers on how to take care of the Black fortune and household. 

Harry wished he had written everything down because the old man simply wouldn’t stop talking. He had tried to soak up the information like a sponge but it was too much. First he talked about Sirius’ cousins, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. Harry’s face, again, grimaced because both of the women had been in the Slug Club in their time at Hogwarts. Slughorn went on to talk about family relations, houses, castles, finances, artifacts and secret passageways and spells to look out for because Harry wasn’t directly related by blood.

“But how will I find out what I now own? I mean, it’s not like there will be a book on my kitchen table with every place I’ve now got, right?” Harry had managed to interrupt the long monologue.

According to Slughorn, there were several knowledgeable parties in this. The most accessible ones were Kreacher and the paintings of former Blacks. Kreacher had been the houseelf of the Blacks for many years and would know about almost everything that had been going on in the family he served but Harry doubted that any of the portraits would speak to him about Black family secrets. The second party would be the goblins. Like all wizarding families, the Blacks owned at least one Gringotts vault. Stored in there were the documents that gave them the ownership of every single estate they owned as well as the condition it was in, the location and the best way to access it. Inside the vault would also be gold, valuable artifacts, books, scrolls and more according to the old man. The last party would be the remaining, living members of the Black family. Sirius’ cousins, Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks.

Harry knew that Andromeda Tonks was a member of the Order of Phoenix and made a mental note to write to her to ask about everything he could do. He completely ruled out Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy. While the only thing he could hold against the latter woman were her husband and her son, Harry would never forgive Bellatrix for murdering Sirius.

As informing and useful as all of this was, the most interesting part of their conversation was about magic itself.

“I assume you are underage, yes?” Harry only had time to nod before the old man continued, not that he wanted him to stop talking or anything like that. “There is something called the Trace. Are you familiar with the term? No? Let me explain. The trace is a charm that allows the Ministry of Magic to track and locate underage wizards that do magic. The Improper Use of Magic Office will know about the exact location and time of when someone performed any kind of magic.”

Harry nodded hastily. “In my third year I blew up my aunt and then took the Knight Bus to London, Former Minister Fudge was already waiting for me. Last year I was attacked by Dementors and not even half an hour later a Ministry owl arrived telling me I had been kicked out of Hogwarts.”

“Exactly that,” agreed Slughorn gleefully, not even batting an eye at the fact that Harry blew up a living person or that he’d been expelled, “the trace locates underage magic. Now, trust me when I say that most pureblooded children use magic at home all the time. It’s how they learn basic spells before even going to Hogwarts and continue to learn them during their holidays. Why does no one catch them?” Harry almost wanted to answer but Slughorn kept on talking.

“Because old, pureblooded families have enchantments protecting their homes that are older than the trace or new ones that are stronger than the trace. Either way, there are homes all over England where a child can use magic without being caught by the Ministry. I’m sure that would be advantageous for someone like you, eh? Another worthwhile tip for everyone who did not grow up in a pureblooded home will be to befriend your house-elves as well as the paintings in your home. They can teach you quite a lot about proper etiquette and mannerism, a few old traditions like Yule or simply household magic. It’s always good to know how to clean your closet without having to move at all. You will absolutely need to befriend at least one portrait to get them to tell you what kind of wards and enchantments your home has at the moment.” 

Slughorn chuckled and Harry couldn’t help but smile. At first he hadn’t thought much of the fat man but now he became more and more interested in him as well as the world of pureblooded magicians. They seemed somehow advanced and superior in their ways. Teaching children before they even went to Hogwarts? Of course most pureblooded students were better than half-bloods or even muggleborns, though of course there seemed to be exceptions. 

His friend Hermione Granger was muggleborn and she was one of the best in his year, his friend Ron Weasley, however, was doing not so well even though he came out of a pureblooded family. But wait. Thinking like this was exactly what Voldemort thought, no? He believed in the supremacy of pureblooded magicians. There was no way that Harry ever wanted to agree with anything Voldemort said or even thought but it made so much more sense. Harry decided to stay silent for now. Maybe Professor Dumbledore could clear this up for him later.

“Your mother, as you know, was muggleborn. I wouldn’t believe it at first. She was extraordinarily good at everything she tried, I could have sworn that she had been brought up in a magical home.”

“One of my best friends is muggleborn and she’s one of the best in my year,” Harry replied bluntly. A small voice in the back of his mind called him a hypocrite. He had just thought about how Voldemorts little crusade actually made sense and now he scolded an old, pureblooded man for thinking a smart witch was also pureblooded? Yes, absolutely hypocritical. Harry shook his head a little to make the voice shut up.

Before Slughorn could even open his mouth to say something, Dumbledore returned. The old man was holding up a muggle magazine about knitting.

“There he is. Well then, Harry. I’m sure I will see you back at Hogwarts after the summer. Albus, I’m taking the job. But I want a raise and another office!”

Dumbledore simply smiled and agreed, glad to have his old friend back at Hogwarts and satisfied that his plan to bring Harry along had worked out that well.

„Very well,“ said Dumbledore, „Hogwarts will be happy to have you back. What made you change your mind?”

“Well, I figured I would be safer,” chuckled Slughorn, “After all He Who Must Not Be Named never sought a fight with you and I wouldn’t have to be on the run anymore. You also promised me a pay raise and perhaps you could make sure I get Professor Merrythought’s old office.” He winked and chuckled a little.

“Of course. I’m terribly sorry, my old friend, but Harry and I must take our leave. It is late and Harry needs to get home. I’m sure you understand? Harry, I believe we have trespassed on Horace’s hospitality long enough, especially considering how late it is. Goodbye, Horace.”

“Bye,” Harry said and waved. They were at the front door when they heard a shout from behind them. 

“Your owl will find me, Mr Potter, if you need more assistance.” Harry felt like the offer was genuine and almost asked Dumbledore to let him stay a bit longer. He had a lot of questions that still needed to be answered. He followed Dumbledore back through the dark streets until they reached the little church.

“I think this will do, if you will please grab my arm?”

Together they apparated into the hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was as dusty and dark as Harry remembered it to be. The old-fashioned gas lamps that lined the walls flickered and sputtered with a low, hissing noise to life. The tapestry peeled off the walls, the thick carpet was covered in a layer of dust, the chandelier was home to many spiders.

“Let us sit in the kitchen, shall we? There are still a few things I would like to talk to you about.”

Harry led the way through his new home into the kitchen.

“Kreacher,” he called out. Not even two seconds later appeared the small house-elf in front of him. Three people had now told him to be kind to the house-elf, so Harry tried.

“Would you kindly make me a hot chocolate? I think I need something sweet now. Can I offer you anything, Professor?” he looked up at Dumbledore.

“No, but thank you very much. I am very glad to see that you are finally taking my advice, Harry. Good, keep it up.” 

Again, Harry could hear a small voice in the back of his head, telling him that this was typically Dumbledore. He was treating Kreacher with more care because he didn’t want to repeat what had happened to Sirius and because what Slughorn had said had made so much sense, not because Dumbledore had told him to do so. It was just like Dumbledore to boldly assume that he was the reason for Harry’s change of heart. Maybe it was the old man that had to grow up and not feel like the entire world revolves around him. Harry shook his head. Wait, old man? There was only one person, if he could actually be called a person, that called Dumbledore old man.

“Sir, is it possible that Voldemort is still in my head?” They sat down at the kitchen table. Harry nervously twiddled his fingers.

“Well, Harry, the connection is still there but I highly doubt that Voldemort actively uses it in any way. Why do you ask, Harry, is there something you would like to tell me?”

“No, Sir,” he replied hastily, “Nothing at all, Sir. I was just a little worried. What did you want to talk about, Professor?”

Dumbledore chuckled lightly, “First of all I would like to thank you for your assistance tonight. You may feel like you haven’t done anything but I assure you, you did very well. What did you think of Horace, or Professor Slughorn, as we have to call him that now.”

“He was very nice, he seems smart. I can see why he was the Head of Slytherin House.”

“What makes you say that, Harry?” Dumbledore smiled.

“I saw the cabinet with photos. He explained to me that he had always hand-picked his favourite students and that he had his little club, he called it. He picked all these people and helped them to greatness, now they repay him in presents and favours. I believe that that is a very Slytherin thing to do.”

“You are right, Harry. Now can you guess why I brought you along?” Harry felt like a child. Of course he could guess that, Dumbledore didn’t need to ask such a stupid question. It slightly offended Harry that Dumbledore thought that Harry might not know the answer to that question but he didn’t let it show.

“You brought me along because I am me. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. You suspect that I will be just another person that Professor Slughorn would want to recruit for his little famous circle.”

“You are absolutely correct. I don’t want you to think badly of your new Professor but I want you to be careful. You will be like the jewel in his collection, the most famous and important person of our time.”

Harry not only knew that Dumbledore wanted him to be a part of Slughorn’s famous circle. There was no doubt in Harry’s mind that their conversation went almost as Dumbledore had predicted. They talked about the old Slug-Club and about Harry’s parents. Knowing Slughorn’s Slytherin side, Dumbledore must have known that he would brag about Lily’s extraordinary talent even though the was only a mudblood, which would make Harry mention Hermione. The smartest witch their age even though she was “just” a muggleborn. This would put a spotlight on Hermione as well. She could be Slughorn’s new Lily, his new muggleborn-gem. And then two out of three members of their small trio would immediately be in the new Slug-Club. 

Harry couldn’t help but congratulate Dumbledore on how well this plan had worked. Even if he would never say it out aloud.

“Sir, I don’t quite understand why I need to be careful. I could just let him collect me. He seems to be very kind and very intelligent.”

“I would like you to trust me, please. He is my friend, yes, and I would like you to befriend him too, but please be warned.”

What did Dumbledore expect, that he would let his fame get over his head? Harry wasn’t like that, Dumbledore should know that. Harry would gladly hand his fame over to someone else, like Neville Longbottom, who could have also become the Boy Who Lived, just to get his parents, his family, back. He had never cared about his fame and he wouldn’t start now. Did Dumbledore get the impression that Harry wanted to run around Hogwarts trying to hook up with as many people he could find just to have dates and hook-ups while completely ignoring his schoolwork and training? Harry knew that the war was a lot more important than dates, hook-ups and fame, thank you very much.

Dumbledore told him that he was pleased with him and what he did at the ministry. How could he be pleased when someone died? Sirius was gone, he would never be back. Harry wasn’t pleased with anything at all and he abruptly told the headmaster that he didn’t want to talk about Sirius. 

They still talked about what happened in the ministry. Dumbledore instructed Harry to tell Ron and Hermione about the prophecy and that he shouldn’t shut out his best friends who had proved themselves to be loyal and trustworthy. Who did Dumbledore think he was. He needed some time to himself, he wasn’t going to shut his friends out. Neither was he afraid of telling his friends that he was scared. Did Ron and Hermione really need to prove themselves to Dumbledore? As angry as he was with the world, there was no point denying the fact that Ron and Hermione had always stood beside him or wanted the best for Harry. Of course there had been fights and misunderstandings but that was normal, every friendship had moments like that. Harry wouldn’t be alive anymore if Hermione and Ron hadn’t been.

Dumbledore also told him that he would be having special lessons with him in private to prepare Harry for the upcoming battles and the time after Harry’s graduation. The best thing about these lessons was that he didn’t have to take Occlumency lessons with Snape anymore. 

Before Dumbledore left Grimauld Place Number 12 he reminded Harry that he was not allowed to leave the house by himself under any circumstances unless his life was in immediate danger and instructed him to always carry his invisibility cloak with him. Bill Weasley would contact Harry soon so he could go to Gringotts to get some money out of his vault for school supplies and more and even then he had to take the cloak with him.

He accompanied his Professor back into the hallway and shook his hand. With a little pop he turned on the spot and vanished into thin air. 

Kreacher and Harry had had a very pleasant conversation in which Harry allowed him to keep anything he wanted while they cleaned out the house and in return Kreacher would cease his hostile behaviour towards Harry. After such an eventful evening Harry had decided to sleep in the room he and Ron had been during the last summer and immediately drifted off into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay with the new chapter. I already have a few chapters completed so please bear with me! I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter and is looking forward to the next one, all kind of feedback is appreciated and welcome, I can't wait to hear from you.


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